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PLYMOUTH    ROCK    AND    CANOPY. 


POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


SELECTED   BY 

ZILPHA  H.  SPOONER 


That  little  Mayflower,  convoyed  by  the  winds 
And  the  rude  waters  to  our  rocky  shore, 
Shall  scatter  Free'lom's  seed  throughout  the  world 
And  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  shall  come 
Singing  to  share  the  harvest-home  of  Truth." 

LOWELL 


BOSTON 
A.  WILLIAMS  AND   COMPANY 

283  WASHINGTON  STREET 
1882 


Copyright,  1881, 
By  Z.  II.  SPOON  EH. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0-  Houston  and  Company. 


To 
JOSEPH  HENRY  STICKNEY,    ESQ. 

OF  BALTIMORE,   MD. 

WHOSE  HEARTFELT   INTEREST  IN   ALL  THAT  RELATES   TO  THE   PILGRIMS, 

AND  WHOSE   MUNIFICENT  GIFTS 
TO  REBUILD,   BEAUTIFY,   AND  PRESERVE  PILGRIM  HALL, 

ENTITLE  HIM  TO  THE  HIGH   REGARD   OF 
ALL  WHO   REVERENCE  THE  FOUNDERS   OF   OUR  COUNTRY, 

2Tf)i0  Folumc 

IS  RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED 
BY 

THE  COMPILER. 


466 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ROBINSON  OF  LEYDEN O.  W.  Holmes  7 

TIIK  KMIJARKATIMX Lizzie  Doten  10 

SONG  OF  mi:  PILGRIMS .T.  C.  Upham  15 

THE  PILGRIMS Mrs.  Sigourney  17 

HYMN William  Cullen  Bryant  21 

THE  LIBERTY  SONG John  Dickinson  22 

NEW  ENGLAND ,1.  G.  Percival  25 

SONG Alexander  Scammel  28 

HYMN.     A  ROCK  IN  TIIK  AVILDERNESS Anonymous  30 

ODE  FOR  DECEMBER  22,  1792 John  Davis  31 

MEMORY  OK  of  it  FATHEKS Flint  34 

HYMN.     DECEM  UEU  22,  1799 Samuel  Davis  35 

THE  PILGHIM  FATHERS Charles  Sprague  37 

HYMN.     DECEMBER  22,  1803 John  Quincy  Adams  42 

ODE Rufus  Dawes  44 

CLARK'S  ISLAND Hersey  B.  Goodwin  47 

HYMN Leonard  Bacon  49 

ODE Samuel  Davis  50 

HYMN.     DECEMBER  22,  1806 Rev.  Dr.  Holmes  52 

FOREFATHERS'  DAY,  DECEMBER  22 M.  W.  Chapman  54 

SONG.    DECEMBER  22,  1807 Joseph  Warren  Brackett  56 

THE  PILGRIM'S  VISION 0.  W.  Holmes  61 

HYMN George  Russell  67 


ii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS  IN  NEW  ENG- 
LAND  Mrs.  Hemans  69 

THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS Ebenezer  Elliott  72 

Two  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO James  Flint  74 

HYMN.     SUNG    AT    TH:S    CELEBRATION,   DECEMBER  22, 

1824 William  P.  Lunt  78 

ODE Grenville  Mellen  81 

HYMN.     DECEMBER  22,  1831 Anonymous  85 

NATIONAL  HYMN David  Lee  Child  87 

REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS Anonymous  89 

HYMN S.  Deane  91 

THE  SAINTED  SIRES Anonymous  93 

ODE John  Pierpont  95 

HYMN  FOR  DECEMBER  22,  1870 Nathaniel  Spooner  97 

STANZAS  FROM  "  THE  PRESENT  CRISIS  " J.  R.  Lowell  98 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


COLE'S  HILL. 

This  hill,  which  was  the  first  burial-place  of  the  Pilgrims, 
commands  a  line  view  of  the  harbor  and  bay,  while  ?.Ianomet 
Hills  are  seen  in  the  distance.  During  the  first  sad  winter 
nearly  half  the  little  band  of  pilgrims  died,  and  wen-  buried 
here.  Their  graves  were  leveled,  and  in  the  spring  corn  was 
planted,  to  conceal  from  the  Indians  the  great  loss  which  had 
been  su>tained. 

PLYMOUTH   ROCK  AND  CANOPY. 

This  granite  rock,  which  first  received  the  feet  of  the  Pil- 
grims after  their  perilous  ocean  voyage,  having  become  an  object 
of  veneration  throughout  the  civilized  world,  a  short  account  of 
it  may  not  be  out  of  place. 

The  rock  remained  undisturbed  upon  the  shore,  until  1741, 
when  a  proposition  was  made  to  build  a  wharf  on  or  near  it. 
Elder  Thomas  Faunce,  then  living  several  miles  from  the  vil- 
lage, hearing  of  the  plan,  and  fearing  injury  to  this  cherished 
memorial  of  the  fathers,  came  to  the  village  to  urge  upon  the 
younger  generation  the  importance  of  preserving  this  precious 
stepping-stone  to  a  new  world.  He  was  at  that  time  at  the  ad- 
vanced age  of  ninetv-fonr,  and  was  the  la>t  Killing  Elder  of  the 
Plvmonth  Church.  The  wishes  of  the  aged  elder  were  heeded, 
and  the  rock  was  not  disturbed  till  1774.  During  that  year, 
while  attempts  were  being  made  to  raise  it  from  its  bed  a  por- 
tion of  the  rock  was  separated  from  the  main  part,  and  r-ome 
patriotic  young  men  caused  the  upper  part  to  be  removed  to 
Town  Square.  It  was  drawn  there  by  twenty  yoke  of  oxen  and 
placed  near  a  Libert  v  Pole,  from  which  waved  a  rlag  bearing 
the  motto  "Liberty  or  Death.'' 

In  1834  it  was  found  needful  to  remove  it  again,  to  prevent  it 
from  being  carried  away  in  pieces  by  strangers  who  came  to  see 


IV  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

it  and  desired  to  have  a  specimen.  It  was  then  placed  in  front 
of  Pilgrim  Hall  and  inclosed  in  an  iron  railing,  where  it  re- 
mained till  1880,  when,  at  the  suggestion  of  .Air.  Stickney,  it 
was  restored  to  its  proper  position  and  united  with  the  part  re- 
maining under  the  Monumental  Canopy  at  the  Landing  Place. 

LEYDEN  STREET. 

This  street  was  originally  called  First  Street,  because  it  was 
the  spot  on  which  the  Pilgrims  built  their  first  dwelling,  which 
was  called  the  "  Common  House." 

TOWN  SQUARE. 

Here  the  Pilgrims  erected  their  first  house  for  public  worship, 
and  very  nearly  the  same  site  is  still  occupied  by  a  church.  One 
of  the  large  elm  trees  in  the  square  is  called  the  town  tree,  and 
in  former  times  it  was  the  principal  place  for  posting  notices, 
and  is  still  iu-cd  as  an  advertising  medium.  The  finder  of  any 
small  article  in  the  street  was  expected  to  fasten  it  upon  the 
trunk  of  this  tree,  and  the  loser  confidently  looked  there  for  it. 
This  custom  is  continued  to  some  extent  at  the  present  time, 
and  one  occasionally  sees  an  odd  glove  hanging  from  the  tree. 

PILGRIM  HALL. 

This  memorial  hall  to  the  Pilgrims  was  built  by  the  Pilgrim 
Society  in  1824.  It  was  rebuilt  and  made  fire-proof  in  1880  by 
the  generosity  of  Joseph  Henry  Stickney,  of  Baltimore,  Md. 
The  hall  contains  many  valuable  relics  and  mementos  of  the 
Pilgrims. 

THE  NATIONAL  MONUMENT. 

This  beautiful  statue,  representing  Faith,  stands  on  a  pedestal 
45  feet  high.  The  height  of  the  statue  is  36  feet. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


PAGE 

ALL  hail  the  day  that  ushers  in 28 

A  rock  in  the  wilderness  welcomed  our  sires 30 

A  voice  of  grief  and  anger 72 

Come,  join  hand  and  hand,  brave  Amerieans  all 22 

Come  listen  to  my  story 74 

God  hath  from  age  to  age 87 

Great  God  of  all  !  in  humble,  grateful  prayer 97 

Hail,  hallowed  spot !  where  Freedom's  rays 47 

Hail,  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  our  race 35 

Hail,  sons  of  the  Pilgrims,  assembled  to  pay 56 

Hail  to  the  land  whereon  we  tread, 25 

He  sleeps  not  here ;  in  hope  and  prayer 7 

Holy  spot !  where  glowing  choirs 78 

How  slow  yon  tin}'  vessel  ploughs  the  main  ! 17 

In  pleasant  lands  have  fallen  the  lines 34 

In  the  hour  of  twilight  shadows 61 

Let  children  learn  the  mighty  deeds 50 

Lo,  the  rising  star  of  Freedom 91 

Not  all  the  loftiest  memories 81 

O  God,  beneath  thy  guiding  hand 49 

Our  fathers'  God  !  to  Thee  we  raise 52 

Sons  of  New  England  sires 44 

Sons  of  renowned  sires 31 

Sons  of  the  noble  sires 67 


vi  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 

PAGE 

The  band  of  Pilgrim  exiles  in  tearful  silence  stood 10 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 69 

The  breeze  has  swelled  the  whitening  sail 15 

The  brittle  bark  is  on  the  gale 85 

The  memory  of  the  faithful  dead 54 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers,  —  where  are  they  ? 95 

They  come,  —  that  coming  who  shall  tell  V 37 

'T  is  as  easy  to  be  heroes  as  to  sit  the  idle  slaves 98 

When  o'er  the  billows  heaving  deep 42 

While  Pilgrims'  sons,  a  festive  throng 93 

Wild  was  the  day,  the  wintry  sea 21 

With  joy  I  heard  them  say 89 


POEMS   OF  THE   PILGEIMS. 


H 


ROBINSON  OF  LEYDEN. 

E  sleeps  not  here ;  in  hope  and  prayer 
His  wandering  flock  had  gone  before, 

But  he,  the  shepherd,  might  not  share 
Their  sorrows  on  the  wintry  shore. 

Before  the  Speedwell's  anchor  swung, 
Ere  yet  the  Mayflower's  sail  was  spread, 

While  round  his  feet  the  Pilgrims  clung, 
The  pastor  spake,  and  thus  he  said : 


"  Men,  brethren,  sisters,  children  dear ! 

God  calls  you  hence  from  over  sea ; 
Ye  may  not  build  by  Haerlem  Meer, 
Nor  yet  along  the  Zuyder-Zee. 

"  Ye  go  to  bear  the  saving  word 

To  tribes  unnamed  and  shores  untrod 


POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Heed  well  the  lessons  ye  have  heard 
From  those  old  teachers  taught  of  God. 

"  Yet  think  not  unto  them  was  lent 

All  light  for  all  the  coming  days, 
And  Heaven's  eternal  wisdom  spent 
In  making  straight  the  ancient  ways. 

"  The  living  fountain  overflows 

For  every  flock,  for  every  lamb, 
Nor  heeds,  though  angry  creeds  oppose 
With  Luther's  dike  or  Calvin's  dam/' 

He  spake  ;  with  lingering,  long  embrace, 
With  tears  of  love  and  partings  fond, 

They  floated  down  the  creeping  Maas, 
Along  the  isle  of  Ysselmond. 

They  passed  the  frowning  towers  of  Briel, 
The  "  Hook  of  Holland's  "  shelf  of  sand, 

And  grated  soon  with  lifting  keel 
Tire  sullen  shores  of  Fatherland. 

No  home  for  these !  too  well  they  knew 
The  mitred  king  behind  the  throne; 

The  sails  were  set,  the  pennons  flew, 
And  westward  ho !  for  worlds  unknown. 


ROBINSON  OF  LEY  DEN.  9 

And  these  were  they  who  gave  us  birth, 
The  Pilgrims  of  the  sunset  wave, 

Who  won  for  us  this  virgin  earth, 
And  freedom  with  the  soil  they  gave. 

The  pastor  slumbers  by  the  Rhine,  — 

In  alien  earth  the  exiles  lie,  — 
Their  nameless  graves  our  holiest  shrine, 

His  words  our  noblest  battle-cry  ! 

Still  cry  them,  and  the  world  shall  hear, 
Ye  dwellers  by  the  storm-swept  sea  ! 

Ye  have  not  built  by  Haerlem  Meer, 
Nor  on  the  land-locked  Zuyder-Zee  ! 

0.  W.  HOLMES. 


THE  EMBARKATION. 

"  So  they  left  that  goodly  and  pleasant  city,  which  had  been  their 
resting-place  near  twelve  years.  But  they  knew  they  were  pilgrims 
and  looked  not  much  to  those  things  ;  but  lifted  their  eyes  to  heaven, 
their  dearest  country,  and  quieted  their  spirits."  —  E.  WINSLOW. 

THE   band   of   Pilgrim    exiles   in    tearful   silence 

stood, 
While  thus  outspake,  in  parting,  John  Robinson 

the  good : 
"  Fare  thee  well,  my  brave  Miles  Standish  !  thou 

hast  a  trusty  sword  ; 
But  not  with  carnal  weapons  shalt  thou  glorify  the 

Lord. 
Fare  thee  well,  good  Elder  Brewster  !   thou  art  a 

man  of  prayer ; 

Commend  the  flock  I  give  thee  to  the  Holy  Shep- 
herd's care. 
And  thou,  beloved  Carver,  —  what  shall  I  say  to 

thee? 
I  have  need,  in  this  my  sorrow,  that  thou  shouldst 

comfort  me. 


THE  EMBARKATION.  11 

In   the  furnace  of   affliction  must  all  be  sharply 

tried  ; 
But  naught  prevails  against  us,  if  the  Lord  be  on 

our  side. 
Farewell,  farewell,  my  people  !    go,  and  stay  not 

the  hand, 
But  precious  seed  of   Freedom  sow  ye  broadcast 

through  the  land. 
Ye   may  scatter  it  in   sorrow,  and  water  it  with 

tears, 
But  rejoice  for  those  who  gather  the  fruit  in  after 

years  ; 
Ay  !  rejoice  that  ye  may  leave  them  an  altar  unto 

God, 
On  the  holy  soil  of   Freedom,  where  no  tyrant's 

foot  hath  trod. 
All   honor   to   our    sovereign,    his   majesty    King 

James, 

But  the  King  of  kings  above  us  the  highest  hom- 
age claims." 
Upon  the  deck  together  they  knelt  them  down  and 

prayed,  — 
The  husband  and  the  father,  the  matron  and  the 

maid  ; 
The  broad  blue  heavens  above  them,  bright  with 

the  summer's  glow, 


12  POEMS   OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

And  the  wide,  wide  waste  of  waters,  with  its  treach- 
erous waves  below  ; 

Around,  the  loved  and  cherished,  whom  they  should 
see  no  more, 

And  the  dark,  uncertain  future  stretching  dimly  on 
before. 

Oh,  well  might  Edward  Winslow  look  sadly  on  his 
bride  ! 

Oh,  well  might  fair  Rose  Standish  press  to  her 
chieftain's  side  ! 

For  with  crucified  affections  they  bowed  the  knee 
in  prayer, 

And  besought  that  God  would  aid  them  to  suffer 
and  to  bear ; 

To  bear  the  cross  of  sorrow  —  a  broader  shield  of 
love 

Than  the  Royal  Cross  of  England,  that  proudly 
waved  above. 

The  balmy  winds  of  summer  swept  o'er  the  glitter- 
ing seas  ; 

It  brought  the  sign  of  parting,  —  the  white  sails 
met  the  breeze ; 

One  farewell  gush  of  sorrow,  one  prayerful  bless- 
ing more, 

And  the  bark  that  bore  the  exiles  glided  slowly 
from  the  shore. 


Till:    1.  MB  ARK  AT  ION.  13 

"  Thus  they  left  that  goodly  city,"  o'er  stormy  seas 

to  roam  : 
"  But  they   knew  that  they   were  pilgrims,"   and 

this  world  was  not  their  home. 

There  is  a   God  in  heaven,  whose  purpose  none 

may  tell ; 
There  is  a  God  in  heaven,  who  doeth  all  things 

well : 

And  thus  an  infant  nation  was  cradled  on  the  deep, 
While  hosts  of  holy  angels  were  set  to  guard  its 

sleep ; 
No  seer,  no  priest,  or  prophet,  read  its  horoscope 

at  birth,  . 

No  bard  in  solemn  saga  sung  its  destiny  to  earth  ; 
But  slowly,  slowly,  slowly  as  the  acorn  from  the 

sod, 
It  grew  in  strength  and  grandeur,  and  spread  its 

arms  abroad. 
The  eyes  of   distant   nations  turned  towards  that 

goodly  tree, 
And  they   saw  how   fair   and  pleasant  were   the 

fruits  of  Liberty  ! 

Like  earth's  convulsive  motion  before  the  earth- 
quake's shock, 


14  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Like  the  foaming  of  the  ocean  around  old  Plym- 
outh Rock, 

So  the  deathless  love  of  Freedom,  the  majesty  of 
Right, 

In   all   kindred    and    all    nations,  is    rising  in  its 
might ; 

And  words  of  solemn  warning  come  from  the  hon- 
ored dead, — 

"  Woe,  woe  to  the  oppressor  if  righteous  blood  be 
shed!  ^ 

Rush  not  blindly  on  the  future !     Heed  the  lessons 
of  the  past ! 

For  the  feeble  and  the  faithful  are  the  conquerors 
at  last." 

LIZZIE  DOTEN. 


SONG   OF   THE  PILGRIMS. 

THE  breeze  has  swelled  the  whitening  sail. 
The  blue  waves  curl  beneath  the  gale, 
And,  bounding  with  the  wave  and  wind, 
We  leave  Old  England's  shores  behind. 
Leave  behind  our  native  shore, 
Homes,  and  all  we  loved  before. 

The  deep  may  dash,  the  winds  may  blow, 
The  storm  spread  out  its  wings  of  woe 
Till  sailors'  eyes  can  see  a  shroud 
Hung  in  the  folds  of  every  cloud  ; 
Still,  as  long  as  life  shall  last, 
From  that  shore  we  '11  speed  us  fast. 

For  we  would  rather  never  be 
Than  dwell  where  mind  cannot  be  free, 
But  bows  beneath  a  despot's  rod 
Even  where  it  seeks  to  worship  God. 

Blasts  of  heaven,  onward  sweep  ! 

Bear  us  o'er  the  troubled  deep ! 


16  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Oh,  see  what  wonders  meet  our  eyes ! 

Another  land  and  other  skies  ! 

Columbian  hills  have  met  our  view  ! 

Adieu !  Old  England's  shores,  adieu ! 
Here,  at  length,  our  feet  shall  rest, 
Hearts  be  "free,  and  homes  be  blessed. 

As  long  as  yonder  firs  shall  spread 
Their  green  arms  o'er  the  mountain's  head,  - 
As  long  as  yonder  cliffs  shall  stand, 
Where  join  the  ocean  and  the  land,  — 

Shall  those  cliffs  and  mountains  be 

Proud  retreats  for  liberty. 

Now  to  the  King  of  kings  we  '11  raise 
The  pean  loud  of  sacred  praise ; 
More  loud  than  sounds  the  swelling  breeze, 
More  loud  than  speak  the  rolling  seas  ! 

Happier  lands  have  met  our  view ! 

England's  shores,  adieu!  adieu  ! 

T.  C.  UniAM. 


THE  PILGRIMS. 

How  slow  yon  tiny  vessel  ploughs  the  main  ! 
Amid  the  heavy  billows  now  she  seems 
A  toiling  atom,  —  then  from  wave  to  wave 
Leaps  madly,  by  the  tempest  lashed,  —  or  reels, 
Half  wrecked,  through  gulfs  profound. 

Moons  wax  and  wane, 

But  still  that  lonely  traveler  treads  the  deep. 
I  see  an  ice-bound  coast,  toward  which  she  steers 
With  such  a  tardy  movement  that  it  seems 
Stern  Winter's  hand  hath  turned  her  keel  to  stone, 
And  sealed  his  victory  on  her  slippery  shrouds. 
They  land  !     They  land  !  —  not  like  the  Genoese, 
With  glittering  sword,  and  gaudy  train,  and  eye 
Kindling  with  golden  fancies.  —  Forth  they  come 
From  their  long  prison,  —  hardy  forms,  that  brave 
The  world's  unkindness,  —  men  of  hoary  hair, 
And  virgins  of  firm  heart,  and  matrons  grave, 
Who  hush  the  wailing  infant  with  a  glance. 
Bleak  Nature's  desolation  wraps  them  round,  — 
Eternal  forests,  and  unyielding  earth, 
2 


18  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

And  savage  men,  who  through  the  thickets  peer 
With   vengeful   arrow.       What   could   lure    their 

steps 

To  this  drear  desert  ?       Ask  of  him  who  left 
His  father's  home  to  roam  through  Haran's  wilds, 
Distrusting  not  the  Guide  who  called  him  forth, 
Nor  doubting,  though  a  stranger,  that  his  seed 
Should  be  as  Ocean's  sands.. 

But  yon  lone  bark 
Hath  spread  her  parting  sail. 

They  crowd  the  strand, 

Those  few,  lone  pilgrims.       Can  ye  scan  the  woe 
That  wrings  their  bosoms,  as  the  last  frail  link 
Binding  to  man  and  habitable  earth 
Is  severed  ?     Can  ye  tell  what  pangs  were  there, 
What  keen  regrets,  what  sickness  of  the  heart, 
What  yearnings  o'er  their  forfeit  land  of  birth, 
Their  distant  dear  ones  ? 

Long  with  straining  eye 
They  watch  the  lessening  speck.       Heard  ye  no 

shriek 

Of  anguish,  when  that  bitter  loneliness 
Sank  down  into  their  bosoms  ?       No !  they  turn 
Back  to  their  dreary,  famished  huts,  and  pray  !  — 
Pray,  —  and  the  ills  that  haunt  this  transient  life 
Fade  into  air.       Up  in  each  girded  breast 


THK  PILGRIMS.  19 

Tliero  sprung  a  rooted  and  mysterious  strength,  — 
A  loftiness,  —  to  face  ;i  world  in  arms,  — 
To  strip  the  pomp  from  sceptres,  —  and  to  lay 
Upon  the  sacred  altar  the  warm  blood 
Of  slain  affections,  when  they  rise  between 
The  soul  and  God. 

And  can  ye  deem  it  strange 
That   from    their   planting    such  a  branch  should 

bloom 

As  nations  envy  ?      Would  a  germ,  embalmed 
AY i tli  prayer's  pure  tear-drops,  strike    no   deeper 

root 

Than  that  which  mad  ambition's  hand  doth  strew 
Upon  the  winds,  to  reap  the  winds  again  ? 
Hid  by  its  veil  of  waters  from  the  hand 
Of  greedy  Europe,  their  bold  vine  spread  forth 
In  giant  strength. 

Its  early  clusters,  crushed 
In  England's  wine-press,  gave  the  tyrant  host 
A  draught  of  deadly  wine.     O  ye  who  boast 
In  your  free  veins  the  blood  of  sires  like  these, 
Lose  not  their  lineaments.     Should  Mammon  cling 
Too  close  around  your  heart,  or  wealth  beget 
That  bloated  luxury  which  eats  the  core 
From  manly  virtue,  or  the  tempting  world 


20  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Make  faint  the  Christian  purpose  in  your  soul, 
Turn  ye  to  Plymouth's  beach,  —  and  on  that  rock 
Kneel  in  their  foot-prints,  and  renew  the  vow 
They  breathed  to  God. 

MRS.  SIGOURNEY. 


COLE'S   HILL,    PLYMOUTH. 


HYMN. 

WILD  was  the  day  ;  the  wintry  sea 

Moaned  sadly  on  New  England's  strand, 

When  first,  the  thoughtful  and  the  free, 
Our  fathers,  trod  the  desert  land. 

They  little  thought  how  pure  a  light, 

With  years,  should  gather  round  that  day  ; 

How  love  should  keep  their  memories  bright, 
How  wide  a  realm  their  sons  should  sway. 

Green  are  their  bays  ;  and  greener  still 

Shall  round  their  spreading  fame  be  wreathed, 

And  regions  now  untrod  shall  thrill 

With  reverence,  when  their  names  are  breathed, 

Till  where  the  sun,  with  softer  fires, 

Looks  on  the  vast  Pacific's  sleep, 
The  children  of  the  Pilgrim  sires 

This  hallowed  day  like  us  shall  keep. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT, 


THE   LIBERTY  SONG. 

SUNG  AT  THE  FIRST  CELEBRATION  OF  THE  LANDING  OF  THE 
FOREFATHERS  AT  PLYMOUTH,  DECEMBER  22, 1769. 

COME,  join  hand  and  hand,  brave  Americans  all, 
And  rouse  your  bold  hearts  at  fair  Liberty's  call ; 
No  tyrannous  acts  shall  suppress  your  just  claim, 
Or  stain  with  dishonor  America's  name. 

CHORUS. 

In  Freedom  we  're  born,  and  in  Freedom  we  '11  live ; 
Our  purses  are  ready, 
Steady,  friends,  steady, 

Not  as  Slaves,  but  as  Freemen,  our  money  we  '11 
give. 

Our  worthy  Forefathers  —  let 's  give  'em  a  cheer  — 
To  climates  unknown  did  courageously  steer ; 
Through  oceans  to  deserts  for  freedom  they  came, 
And  dying,  bequeathed  us  their  freedom  and  fame. 

Their  generous  bosoms  all  danger  despised, 

So  highly,  so  wisely,  their  birthright  they  prized ; 


THE  LIBERTY  SONG.  23 

We'll  keep  what  they  gave,  —  we  will  piously  keep, 
Nor  frustrate  their  toils  on  the  laud  or  the  deep. 

The  Tree  their  own  hands  had  to  Liberty  reared 
They  lived  to  behold  growing  strong  and  revered ; 
With  transport  they  cried,  "  Now  our  wishes  we 

gain, 
For  our  children    shall   gather  the  fruits  of   our 

pain." 

How  sweet  are  the  labors  that  Freemen  endure, 
That  they  shall  enjoy  all  the  profits  secure. 
No  more  such  sweet  labors  Americans  know 
If  Britons  shall  reap  what  Americans  sow. 

Swarms  of  placemen  and  pensioners  soon  will  ap- 
pear, 

Like  locusts  deforming  the  charms  of  the  year  ; 
Suns  vainly  will  rise,  showers  vainly  descend, 
If  we  are  to  drudge  for  what  others  shall  spend. 

Then  join  hand  in  hand,  brave  Americans  all ; 
By  uniting  we  stand,  by  dividing,  we  fall ; 
In  so  righteous  a  cause  let  us  hope  to  succeed, 
For  Heaven  approves  of  each  generous  deed. 


24  POEMS   OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

All  ages  shall  speak  with  amaze  and  applause 
Of  the  courage  we  '11  show  in  support  of  our  laws  ; 
To  die  we  can  bear,  but  to  serve  we  disdain  ; 
For  shame  is  to  Freemen  more  dreadful  than  pain. 

This  bumper  I  crown  for  our  Sovereign's  health, 
And  this  for  Britannia's  glory  and  wealth  ; 
That  wealth  and  that  glory  immortal  may  be 
If  she  is  but  just  and  we  are  but  free. 

JOHN  DICKINSON. 


NEW  ENGLAND. 

HAIL  to  the  land  whereon  we  tread, 

Our  fondest  boast ; 
The  sepulchre  of  mighty  dead, 
The  truest  hearts  that  ever  bled, 
Who  sleep  on  Glory's  brightest  bed, 

A  fearless  host ; 

No  slave  is  here  —  our  unchained  feet 
Walk  freely,  as  the  waves  that  beat 
Onr  coast. 

Our  fathers  crossed  the  ocean's  wave 

To  seek  this  shore  ; 
They  left  behind  the  coward  slave 
To  welter  in  his  living  grave  ;  — 
With  hearts  unbent,  and  spirits  brave, 

They  sternly  bore 

Such  toils  as  meaner  souls  had  quelled ; 
But  souls  like  these  such  toils  impelled 
To  soar. 


26  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Hail  to  the  morn,  when  first  they  stood 

On  Bunker's  height, 

And,  fearless,  stemmed  the  invading  flood, 
And  wrote  our  dearest  rights  in  blood, 
And  mowed  in  ranks  the  hireling  brood, 

In  desperate  fight ! 
Oh,  'twas  a  proud,  exulting  day, 
For  even  our  fallen  fortunes  lay 
In  light. 

There  is  no  other  land  like  thee, 

No  dearer  shore ; 
Thou  art  the  shelter  of  the  free  ; 
The  home,  the  port  of  Liberty, 
Thou  hast  been,  and  shalt  ever  be, 

Till  time  is  o'er. 
Ere  I  forget  to  think  upon 
My  land,  shall  mother  curse  the  son 
She  bore. 

Thou  art  the  firm,  unshaken  rock 

On  which  we  rest ; 
And,  rising  from  thy  hardy  stock, 
Thy  sons  the  tyrant's  frown  shall  mock, 
And  Slavery's  galling  chains  unlock, 

And  free  the  oppressed : 


NEW  ENGLAND.  27 

All  who  the  wreath  of  Freedom  twine 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  their  vine 
Are  blest. 

We  love  thy  rude  and  rocky  shore, 

And  here  we  stand  : 
Let  foreign  navies  hasten  o'er, 
And  on  our  heads  their  fury  pour, 
And  peal  their  cannons'  loudest  roar, 

And  storm  our  land  ; 
They  still  shall  find  our  lives  are  given 
To  die  for  home,  —  and  leant  on  Heaven 
Our  hand. 

J.  G.  PERCIVAL. 


SONG. 

DECEMBER  22,  1770. 

ALL  hail  the  day  that  ushers  in 

The  period  of  revolving  time, 

In  which  our  sires  of  glorious  fame 

Bravely  through  toils  and  dangers  came 

Novanglia's  wilds  to  civilize, 

And  wild  disorder  harmonize  ; 

To  plant  Britannia's  arts  and  arms, 

Plenty,  peace,  freedom,  pleasing  charms, 

Derived  from  British  rights  and  laws, 
That  justly  merit  our  applause. 
Darlings  of  Heaven,  heroes  brave, 
You  still  shall  live  though  in  the  grave. 

Live,  live,  within  each  grateful  breast, 
With  reverence  for  your  names  possessed  ; 
Your  praises  on  our  tongues  shall  dwell, 
And  sires  to  sons  your  actions  tell. 


SONG.  29 

To  distant  poles  their  praise  resound, 
Let  virtue  be  with  glory  crowned  ; 
Ye  dreary  wilds,  each  rock  and  cave, 
Echo  the  virtues  of  the  brave. 

They  nobly  braved  their  indigence, 
Death,  famine,  sword,  and  pestilence  ; 
Each  toil,  each  danger  they  endured, 
Till  for  their  sons  they  had  procured 

A  fertile  soil,  profusely  blest 

"With  Nature's  stores,  and  now  possessed 

By  sons  who  gratefully  revere 

Our  Fathers'  names  and  memories  dear. 

Plymouth  the  great  Mausoleum, 
Famous  for  our  Forefathers'  Tomb, 
Join,  join  the  chorus,  one  and  all, 
Resound  their  deeds  in  Colony  Hall. 

ALEXANDER  SCAMMEL. 


HYMN. 

A  ROCK  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 

A  ROCK  in  the  wilderness  welcomed  our  sires 
From  bondage  far  over  the  dark  rolling  sea ; 

On  that  holy  altar  they  kindled  the  fires, 

Jehovah,  which  glow  in  our  bosoms  for  thee. 

Thy  blessings  descended  in  sunshine  and  shower, 
Or  rose  from  the  soil  that  was  sown  by  thy 
hand  ; 

The  mountain  and  valley  rejoiced  in  thy  power, 
And  heaven  encircled  and  smiled  on  the  land. 

The  Pilgrims  of  old  an  example  have  given 

Of  mild  resignation,  devotion,  and  love, 
Which  beams  like  the  star  in  the  blue  vault  of 

heaven, — 
A  beacon-light  hung  in  the  mansions  above. 

In  church  and  cathedral  we  kneel  in  our  prayer, 
Their  temple  and  chapel  were  valley  and  hill ; 

But  God  is  the  same  in  the  aisle  or  the  air, 
And  He  is  the  Hock  that  we  lean  upon  still. 

ANONYMOUS. 


ODE. 

WRITTEN  FOR  THE  CELEBRATION,  DECEMBER  22,  1792. 

SONS  of  renowned  sires, 
Join  in  harmonious  choirs, 

Swell  your  loud  songs ; 
Daughters  of  peerless  dames 
Come  with  your  mild  acclaims, 
Let  their  revered  names 

Dwell  on  your  tongues. 

From  frowning  Albion's  seat 
See  the  famed  band  retreat, 

On  ocean  tost ; 
Blue  tumbling  billows  roar, 
By  keel  scarce  ploughed  before, 
And  bear  them  to  this  shore 

Fettered  with  frost. 

By  yon  wave-beaten  rock 
See  the  illustrious  flock 
Collected  stand ; 


32  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

To  seek  some  sheltering  grove 
Their  faithful  partners  move, 
Dear  pledges  of  their  love 
In  either  hand. 

Not  winter's  sullen  face, 
Not  the  fierce  tawny  race. 

In  arms  arrayed,  — 
Not  hunger  shook  their  faith, 
Not  sickness'  baleful  breath, 
Nor  Carver's  early  death, 

Their  souls  dismayed. 

Watered  by  heavenly  dew, 
The  germ  of  Empire  grew,  — 

Freedom  its  root ; 
From  the  cold  northern  pine, 
Far  t'ward  the  burning  line, 
Spreads  the  luxuriant  vine 

Bending  with  fruit. 

Columbia,  child  of  Heaven  ! 
The  best  of  blessings  given 

Be  thine  to  greet ; 
Hailing  this  votive  day, 


ODE.  33 

Looking  with  fond  survey 
Upon  the  weary  way 

Of  Pilgrim  feet. 

Here  trace  the  moss-grown  stones 
Where  rest  their  mouldering  bones, 

Again  to  rise  ; 
And  let  thy  sons  be  led 
To  emulate  the  dead, 
While  o'er  their  tombs  they  tread 

With  moistened  eyes. 

Sons  of  renowned  sires, 
Join  in  harmonious  choirs, 

Swell  your  loud  songs  ; 
Daughters  of  peerless  dames 
Come  with  your  mild  acclaims, 
Let  their  revered  names 

Dwell  on  your  tongues. 

JOHN  DAVIS. 


MEMORY  OF   OUR  FATHERS. 

IN  pleasant  lands  have  fallen  the  lines 
That  bound  our  goodly  heritage, 

And  safe  beneath  our  sheltering  vines 
Our  youth  is  blest,  and  soothed  our  age. 

What  thanks,  O  God,  to  Thee  are  due, 
That  Thou  didst  plant  our  fathers  here ; 

And  watch  and  guard  them  as  they  grew, 
A  vineyard  to  the  planter  dear. 

The  toils  they  bore  our  ease  have  wrought ; 

They  sowed  in  tears  —  in  joy  we  reap  ; 
The  birthright  they  so  dearly  bought 

We  '11  guard,  till  we  with  them  shall  sleep. 

Thy  kindness  to  our  fathers  shown, 
In  weal  and  woe  through  all  the  past, 

Their  grateful  sons,  O  God,  shall  own, 
While  here  their  name  and  race  shall  last. 

FLINT. 


HYMN. 

DECEMBER  22,  1799. 

HAIL,  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  our  race  ! 
With  grateful  hearts  your  toils  we  trace  ; 
Again  this  votive  day  returns, 
And  finds  us  bending  o'er  your  urns. 

Jehovah's  arm  prepared  the  road  ; 
The  heathen  vanished  at  his  nod  ; 
He  gave  his  vine  a  lasting  root ; 
He  loads  its  goodly  boughs  with  fruit. 

The  hills  are  covered  with  its  shade ; 
Its  thousand  shoots  like  cedars  spread ; 
Its  branches  to  the  sea  expand, 
And  reach  to  broad  Superior's  strand. 

Of  peace  and  truth  the  gladsome  ray 
Smiles  in  our  skies  and  cheers  the  day ; 
And  a  new  Empire's  splendent  wheels 
Roll  o'er  the  top  of  Western  hills. 


36  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Hail,  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  our  race  ! 
With  grateful  hearts  your  toils  we  trace  ; 
Oft  as  this  votive  day  returns 
We  '11  pay  due  honors  to  your  urns. 

SAMUEL  DAVIS. 


LEYDEN    STREET,    PLYMOUTH. 


THE   PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

TIIKY  come  — that  coming  who  shall  tell  ? 
The  eye  may  weep,  the  heart  may  swell, 
But  the  poor  tongue  in  vain  essays 
A  fitting  note  for  them,  to  raise. 
We  hear  the  after-shout  that  rings 
For  them  who  smote  the  power  of  kings  ; 
The  swelling  triumph  all  would  share ; 
But  who  the  dark  defeat  would  dare, 
And  boldly  meet  the  wrath  and  woe 
That  wait  the  unsuccessful  blow? 
It  were  an  envied  fate,  we  deem, 
To  live  a  land's  recorded  theme, 

"\Vhen  we  are  in  the  tomb. 
We,  too,  might  yield  the  joys  of  home, 
And  waves  of  winter  darkness  roam, 

And  tread  a  shore  of  bloom, 
Knew  we  those  waves,  through  coming  time, 
Should  roll  our  names  to  every  clime  ; 
Felt  we  that  millions  on  that  shore 
Should  stand,  our  memory  to  adore. 


38  POEMS   OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

But  no  glad  vision  burst  in  light 

Upon  the  pilgrims'  aching  sight ; 

Their  hearts  no  proud  hereafter  swelled ; 

Deep  shadows  veiled  the  way  they  held ; 

The  yell  of  vengeance  was  the  trump  of  fame  ; 

Their  monument,  a  grave  without  a  name. 

Yet,  strong  in  weakness,  there  they  stand, 

On  yonder  ice-bound  rock, 
Stern  and  resolved,  that  faithful  band, 

To  meet  fate's  rudest  shock. 
Though  anguish  rends  the  father's  breast, 
For  them,  his  dearest  and  his  best, 

With  him  the  waste  who  trod,  — 
Though  tears  that  freeze  the  mother  sheds 
Upon  her  children's  houseless  heads,  — 

The  Christian  turns  to  God  ! 

In  grateful  adoration  now, 

Upon  the  barren  sands  they  bow. 

What  tongue  of  joy  e'er  woke  such  prayer 

As  bursts  in  desolation  there  ! 

What  arm  of  strength  e'er  wrought  such  power 

As  waits  to  crown  that  feeble  hour ! 

There  into  life  an  infant  empire  springs ! 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  39 

There  falls  the  iron  from  the  soul  ; 
There  Liberty's  young  accents  roll 

Up  to  the  King  of  kings  ! 
To  fair  creation's  farthest  bound 
That  thrilling  summons  yet  shall  sound  ; 
The  dreaming  nations  shall  awake, 
And  to  their  centre  earth's  old  kingdoms  shake. 
Pontiff  and  prince,  your  sway 
Must  crumble  from  that  day  ; 
Before  the  loftier  throne  of  Heaven 
The  hand  is  raised,  the  pledge  is  given, 
One  monarch  to  obey,  one  creed  to  own,  — 
That  monarch,  God,  that  creed,  his  word  alone. 

Spread  out  earth's  holiest  records  here 
Of  days  and  deeds  to  reverence  dear. 
A  zeal  like  this  what  pious  legends  tell ! 
On  kingdoms  built 
In  blood  and  guilt 
The  worshipers  of  vulgar  triumph  dwell  ; 

But  what  exploits  with  theirs  shall  page  ' 

Who  rose  to  bless  their  kind, 
Who  left  their  nation  and  their  age 

Man's  spirit  to  unbind  ! 
Who  boundless  seas  passed  o'er, 


40  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

And  boldly  met,  in  every  path, 
Famine,  and  frost,  and  heathen  wrath, 

To  dedicate  a  shore 

Where  Piety's  meek  train  might  breathe  their  vow, 
And  seek  their  Maker  with  an  unshamed  brow ; 
Where  Liberty's  glad  race  might  proudly  come, 
And  set  up  there  an  everlasting  home  ! 

Oh,  many  a  time  it  hath  been  told, 
The  story  of  those  men  of  old : 
For  this  fair  Poetry  hath  wreathed 

Her  sweetest,  purest  flower  ; 
For  this  proud  Eloquence  hath  breathed 

His  strain  of  loftiest  power  : 
Devotion,  too,  hath  lingered  round 
Each  spot  of  consecrated  ground, 

And  hill  and  valley  blessed  ; 
There,  where  our  banished  fathers  strayed,  — 
There,  where  they  loved,  and  wept,  and  prayed,  — 
There,  where  their  ashes  rest. 

And  never  may  they  rest  unsung 
While  Liberty  can  find  a  tongue. 
Twine,  Gratitude,  a  wreath  for  them, 
More  deathless  than  the  diadem, 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  41 

Who  to  life's  noblest  end, 

Gave  up  life's  noblest  powers, 

And  bade  the  legacy  descend 
Down,  down  to  us  and  ours. 

CHAULES  SPRAGUE. 


HYMN. 

FOR  THE  22o  OF  DECEMBER,  1803. 

WHEN  o'er  the  billows  heaving  deep 

The  Fathers  of  our  race, 
The  precepts  of  their  God  to  keep, 

Sought  here  their  resting-place, 

That  gracious  God  their  path  prepared, 
Preserved  from  every  harm, 

And  still  for  their  protection  bared 
His  everlasting  arm. 

His  breath,  inspiring  every  gale, 

Impels  them  o'er  the  main  ; 
His  guardian  angel  spreads  the  sail, 

And  tempests  howl  in  vain. 

For  them  old  ocean's  rocks  are  smoothed 
December's  face  grows  mild ; 

To  vernal  airs  her  blasts  are  soothed, 
And  all  their  rage  beguiled. 


HYMN.  43 

When  Famine  rolls  her  haggard  eyes, 

His  ever  bounteous  hand 
Abundance  from  the  sea  supplies, 

And  treasure  from  the  sand. 

Nor  yet  his  tender  mercies  cease, 

His  overruling  plan 
Inclines  to  gentleness  and  peace 

The  heart  of  savage  man. 

And  fan  our  stony  bosoms  be 

To  all  these  wonders  blind. 
Nor  swell  with  thankfulness  to  Thee, 

O  Parent  of  mankind  ? 

All  gracious  God,  inflame  our  zeal ; 

Dispense  one  blessing  more  : 
Grant  us  thy  boundless  love  to  feel, 

Thy  goodness  to  adore. 

JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


ODE. 

Soxs  of  New  England  sires !   ' 
Why  do  your  altar-fires 

Flame  up  on  high  ; 
Why  from  your  festal  board 
Wakes  the  loud  anthem,  poured 
Joyous  with  one  accord, 

Winged  for  the  sky  ? 

Not  for  the  voice  that  spoke 
Triumph  —  when  Britain's  yoke 

Burst  with  your  chains  ; 
Not  for  the  heroes  brave, 
Bleeding  by  Charles'  wave, 
Not  for  the  patriot's  grave, 

Wake  ye  your  strains  ; 

But  for  the  Pilgrim-band, 
They  who  from  Ley  den's  land 
Dared  the  rough  sea  ; 


ODE.  45 

Braving  the  ocean  vast, 
Scorning  the  wintry  blast, 
So  they  might  find,  at  last, 
Room  for  the  free. 

Hark,  how  the  thunder  peals  ! 
See,  how  the  brave  ship  reels, 

Whirled  in  the  brine  ! 
Courage  !  the  God  that  wears 
Storm-robes,  the  good  man  spares  : 
Pilgrim  !  He  hears  your  prayers,  — 

Joy  to  your  line! 

Nobly  the  Mayflower  bows 
While  the  dark  wave  she  ploughs 

On  to  the  West ; 
Till  from  the  tempest's  shock' 
Proudly  she  lands  her  flock, 
Where,  on  old  Plymouth-rock, 

Freedom  found  rest. 

Lo !  from  yon  starry  sphere 
Spirits  in  light  appear, 
Glorious,  but  few. 
Pilgrims !  we  see  you  now ; 
Fathers  !  to  you  we  bow  ; 


POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Hear,  then,  your  children's  vow, 
Still  to  be  true. 

Join,  brothers,  heart  and  hand, 
Sons  of  the  Pilgrim-band  ! 

Swear  now  to  be 
All  that  your  fathers  sought, — 
All  that  their  virtue  wrought,  — 
So  shall  your  sons  be  taught 

How  to  be  free  ! 

RUFUS  DA  WES. 


CLARK'S   ISLAND. 

HAIL,  hallowed  spot !  where  Freedom's  rays 
First  darted  o'er  the  wanderer's  ways, 

And  gave  him  rest, 
First  brought  the  dawn  of  brighter  days,  — 

Thy  shores  are  blest ! 

Rut  dark  the  clouds  that  lingered  round 
The  island  which  the  Pilgrim  found, 

In  time  long  gone, 
And  deep  and  drear  the  thrilling  sound 

Of  gathering  storm. 

Aye,  dark  indeed,  whose  night  of  yore 
That  rocked  the  Mayflower  near  thy  shore 

On  wintry  tides,  — 
For  dark  the  waves  that  round  thee  roar, 

And  wash  thy  sides. 

But  bright  the  star  that  lent  its  ray 
To  bear  the  traveler  on  his  way 
From  childhood's  seat, 


48  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

That  lighted  up  so  fair  a  day 
For  his  retreat. 


Oh,  who  would  ask  a  holier  bed 
Than  where  he  laid  his  weary  head, 

And  nobly  slept, 
For  though  the  Pilgrim  long  hath  fled, 

His  spirit 's  left. 

Then  hail  the  spot  where  first  the  sound 
Of  Freedom  shook  the  sacred  ground 

In  early  days, 
And  filled  the  hills  and  forests  round 

With  gladsome  praise. 

HERSEY  B.  GOODWIN. 


HYMN. 

O  GOD,  beneath  thy  guiding  hand 
Our  exiled  fathers  crossed  the  sea  ; 

And  when  they  trod  the  wintry  strand 

With  prayer  and  psalm  they  worshiped  Thee. 

Thou  heard'st,  well  pleased,  the  song,  the  prayer 
Thy  hlessing  came  ;  and  still  its  power 

Shall  onward  through  all  ages  bear 
The  memory  of  that  holy  hour. 

Laws,  freedom,  truth,  and  faith  in  God 
Came  with  those  exiles  o'er  the  waves  ; 

And  where  their  pilgrim  feet  have  trod 
The  God  they  trusted  guards  their  graves. 

And  here  thy  name,  O  God  of  love, 

Their  children's  children  shall  adore, 
Till  these  eternal  hills  remove, 

And  spring  adorns  the  earth  no  more. 

LEONARD  BACON. 
4 


ODE. 

LET  children  learn  the  mighty  deeds 
Their  sires  achieved  of  old  ; 

And  still,  as  time  to  time  succeeds, 
To  them  the  tale  unfold. 

Here  while  we  fondly  trace  the  scene 
This  joyous  day  recalls, 

Let  youth  with  reverend  age  convene 
Within  these  hallowed  walls. 

Their  pious  toils,  their  just  rewards, 
Returning  tributes  claim, 

While  faithful  history  records 
Each  venerable  name. 

Here  first  the  temple's  votive  fane, 
Aspiring,  sought  the  skies, 

And  here  Religion's  exiled  train 
Bade  sacred  altars  rise. 


ODE.  51 

No  longer  now  the  roaming  hordes 

Unhallowed  vigils  keep ; 
No  more  affrighted  mothers  guard 

Their  cradled  infants'  sleep  : 

But  social  arts  and  peaceful  homes 

This  favored  land  endear, 
Where  fields  and  masts  and  rising  domes 

With  scattered  grace  appear. 

Let  musing  strangers  view  the  ground, 

Here  seek  tradition's  lore, 
Where  Pilgrims  walked  on  holy  ground 

With  God  in  days  of  yore ; 

And  where  around  the  savage  tribe 

Alarmed  with  horrid  yells, 
Assembling  crowds  secure  imbibe 

What  holy  legend  tells. 

Let  children  emulate  their  deeds, 

Their  choral  praises  sing  ; 
So  shall  the  muse,  as  time  proceeds, 

Her  meed  of  incense  bring. 

SAMUEL  DAVIS. 


HYMN. 

DECEMBER  22,  1806. 

OUR  Fathers'  God  !  to  Thee  we  raise, 
With  one  accord,  the  song  of  praise ; 
To  Thee  our  grateful  tribute  pay 
Oft  as  returns  this  festal  day. 

With  tearful  eyes  we  here  will  trace 
Thy  wonders  to  the  Pilgrim  race ; 
And  while  those  wonders  we  explore, 
Their  names  extol,  thy  name  adore. 

Our  Fathers'  God !     Thy  own  decree 
Ordained  the  Pilgrims  to  be  free  ; 
In  foreign  lands  they  owned  thy  care, 
And  found  a  safe  asylum  there. 

When  the  wide  main  they  traversed  o'er, 
And  landed  on  this  sea-beat  shore, 
The  Pilgrims'  Rock  must  e'er  proclaim 
Thy  guardian  care  was  still  the  same. 


TOWN     SQUARE,    PLYMOUTH. 


HYMN.  53 

Our  Fathers'  God  !  while  here  we  trace 
Our  lineage  to  the  Pilgrim  race, 
Oh,  may  we  like  those  Pilgrims  live, 
And  in  the  sons  the  sires  revive. 

Our  Fathers'  God !  to  Thee  we  raise, 
With  one  accord,  the  song  of  praise ; 
To  Thee  our  grateful  tribute  pay 
Oft  as  returns  this  festal  day. 

REV.  DR.  HOLMES. 


FOREFATHERS'  DAY. 

DECEMBER  22. 

THE  memory  of  the  faithful  dead 

Be  on  their  children's  hearts  this  day  ! 

Your  fathers'  God,  their  host  that  led, 
Will  shield  you  through  the  stormy  way. 

Your  Saviour  bids  you  seek  and  save 

The  trampled  and  the  oppressed  of  earth  ; 

At  his  command  the  storm  to  brave. 
Faithful  and  true  !  come  boldly  forth  ! 

Their  suffering  though  your  souls  must  share,  - 
Though  pride  oppress  and  hate  condemn,  — 

Stand  up !  and  breathe  your  fearless  prayer 
For  those  in  bonds,  as  bound  with  them. 

Unheeded  fall  the  fierce  command 

That  bids  the  struggling  soul  be  dumb ! 

Shout  with  a  voice  to  rouse  a  land ! 
Bid  the  free  martyr  spirit  come  ! 


FOREFATHERS'   DAY.  55 

Searcher  of  hearts,  to  Thee  we  bow,  — 
Uphold  us  with  thy  staff  and  rod ; 

Our  fervent  hearts  are  ready  now, — 
We  come  to  do  thy  will,  O  God! 

M.  W.  CHAPMAN. 


SONG. 

DECEMBER  22, 1807. 

HAIL  !  sons  of  the  Pilgrims,  assembled  to  pay 

Festivity's  rite  to  our  fathers  in  glory  ! 
May  the  ardor  of  friendship  enliven  the  lay, 

And  their  virtues  be  told,  while  we  glow  with 
the  story. 

With  the  patriot's  fire 
Be  enflamed  each  desire, 
To  all  that  is  noble  each  bosom  aspire  ; 
For,  long  as  old  earth  on  her  axle  shall  turn, 
On  the  altars  of  freemen  pure  incense  should 
burn. 

When  tyranny  bigotry's  banners  upreared, 

Those  fathers,  for  conscience,  for  freedom,  self- 
banished, 

Confiding  in  Heaven,  o'er  the  wild  billow  steered, 
And    in   Holland   found   refuge,   while   bigotry 
vanished  : 

There,  strangers  awhile 

From  their  friends  —  from  their  Isle, 


SONG.  57 

See  them  sojourn  in  hope,  —  in  adversity  smile  ; 
Till  raising  again  the  white  sail  to  the  wind, 
They  plough  the  rough  main,  their  own  region 

to  find. 

Long  tossing  in  doubt,  o'er  the  wildering  wave, 
The  pilot  yet  timid  to  brave  the  commotion ; 
Them  hailing  to  freedom,  from  perils  to  save, 
Columbia  displayed  her  blue  skirt  from  the  ocean. 
In  Plymouth  they  land, 
On  the  bleak  barren  strand, 
Yet  they're  strong  in  their  shield — an  omnip- 
otent hand : 
For  there   to    their  wanderings   a   period  they 

find, 

And  their  brows  with  the  laurels  of  free.dom  first 
bind. 

The  savage  his  quiver  exhausted  in  vain  ; 

He  rose  —  but  his  tomahawk  idle  descended: 
Independent,   the   Pilgrims   moved  free    o  'er  the 

plain ; 

Magnanimity  nerved  them  —  their  bravery  de- 
fended : 

Though  environed  by  foes, 
They  found  calm  repose, 


58  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

While  the  wilderness  blossomed  and  smiled  like 

the  rose : 

Till  late  to  the  grave,  as  they  smoothly  declined, 
To  their  offspring  their  virtue,  a  birthright,  re- 
signed. 

When  Albion  their  heirs  to  enslave  vainly  strove, 

When  lunatic  Gallia  committed  aggression, 
They  lowered  in  the  combat  —  the  assailants  hence 

drove, 

Independence   they  won  —  of   their  rights  kept 
possession. 

Then  oft  will  we  tell, 
In  the  feast  of  the  shell, 
The  deeds  of  their  fame,  till  with  transports  we 

swell ; 
And  teach  the  sweet  infant,  that  smiles  on  his 

sire. 
To  pant  for  like  fame,  and  to  glow  with  like  fire. 

Though  society's  base  were  by  faction  assailed, 
Or,  the  bane  of  our  safety,  by  flattery  were  var- 
nished ; 
Though   the   veteran   be  seen   in    his  hamlet  un- 

mailed  — 

Retired   from    the    Council,    his    laurels    untar- 
nished : 


SONG.  59 

Yet  the  foe  on  our  coast, 

Lo  !  he  flies  to  his  post ; 
His  valor  impels  —  in  himself  he  's  a  host ; 
And  with  him  the  sons  of  New  England  shall  fly, 
Resolved  to  live  honored,  or  nobly  to  die. 

Yes,  now  from  the  East  see  aggression  impend ! 
Ye  venerable  shades,  your  remembrance   shall 

fire  us  ; 

Our  rights  shall  be  sacred  —  our  laws  we  '11  de- 
fend ; 

Our  union  shall  strengthen  —  true  glory  inspire 
us  : 

If  the  bolt  be  but  hurled, 
Shall  our  flags  be  unfurled ; 
Though  few,  yet  their  fame  shall  extend  o'er  the 

world ; 
While  the   honors   and   laurels   that   deck   our 

brave  tars 

Shall  end  but  with  time,  and  but  fade  with  the 
stars  ! 

Thus,  oft  in  our  pilgrimage,  memory  shall  glow, 
As  the  tale  of  the  past  comes  with  pleasure  at- 
tendant ; 

And    the   boast   of  our   nation,  latest    ages    shall 
know,  — 


60  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Our  Fathers  in  Glory  —  their  sons  Independent ! 

Then  glad  be  your  song 

Ye  convivial  throng ; 

Roll,  roll  the  full  chorus  of  rapture  along : 
For,  long  as  old  earth  on  her  axle  shall  turn, 
On  the  altars  of  freemen  pure  incense  must  burn. 
JOSEPH  WARKEN  BK  ACRE  XT. 


THE  PILGRIM'S  VISION. 

IN  the  hour  of  twilight  shadows 

The  Pilgrim  sire  looked  out ; 
He  thought  of  the   «-  bloudy-Salvages  " 

That  lurked  all  round  about, 
Of  AVituwamet's  pictured  knife 

And  Pecksuof  s  whooping  shout ; 
For  the  baby's  limbs  were  feeble, 

Though  his  father's  arms  were  stout. 

His  home  was  a  freezing  cabin, 

Too  bare  for  the  hungry  rat ; 
Its  roof  was  thatched  with  ragged  grass. 

And  bald  enough  of  that. 
The  hole  that  served  for  casement 

Was  glazed  with  an  ancient  hat ; 
And  the  ice  was  gently  thawing 

From  the  log  whereon  he  sat. 

Along  the  dreary  landscape 
His  eyes  went  to  and  fro, 


62  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

The  trees  all  clad  in  icicles, 
The  streams  that  did  not  flow ; 

A  sudden  thought  flashed  o'er  him, 
A  dream  of  long  ago,  — 

He  smote  his  leathern  jerkin, 
And  murmured,  "  Even  so  !  " 

"  Come  hither,  God-be-glorified, 

And  sit  upon  my  knee, 
Behold  the  dream  unfolding, 

Whereof  I  spake  to  thee 
By  the  winter's  hearth  in  Leyden, 

And  on  the  stormy  sea ; 
True  is  the  dream's  beginning,  — 

So  may  its  ending  be  ! 

"  I  saw  in  the  naked  forest 

Our  scattered  remnant  cast, 
A  screen  of  shivering  branches 

Between  them  and  the  blast ; 
The  snow  was  falling  round  them, 

The  dying  fell  as  fast ; 
I  looked  to  see  them  perish, 

When  lo !  the  vision  passed. 

"  Again  mine  eyes  were  opened  :  — 
The  feeble  had  waxed  strong, 


THE  PILGRIM'S   VISION.  G3 

The  babes  had  grown  to  sturdy  men, 

The  remnant  was  a  throng  ; 
By  shadowed  lake  and  winding  stream, 

And  all  the  shores  along, 
•   The  howling  demons  quaked  to  hear 

The  Christian's  godly  song. 

"  They  slept,  —  the  village  fathers,  — 

By  river,  lake,  and  shore, 
When  far  adown  the  steep  of  time 

The  vision  rose  once  more  ; 
I  saw  along  the  winter  snow 

A  spectral  column  pour, 
And,  high  above  their  broken  ranks 

A  tattered  flag  they  bore. 

"  Their  Leader  rode  before  them, 

Of  bearing  calm  and  high, 
The  light  of  Heaven's  own  kindling 

Throned  in  his  awful  eye. 
These  were  a  Nation's  champions, 

Her  dread  appeal  to  try ; 
God  for  the  right !  I  faltered, 

And,  lo  !  the  train  passed  by. 

"  Once  more,  —  the  strife  is  ended, 
The  solemn  issue  tried, 


64  POEMS   OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

The  Lord  of  Hosts,  his  mighty  arm 
Has  helped  our  Israel's  side  ; 

Gray  stone  and  grassy  hillock 
Told  where  the  martyrs  died, 

But  peaceful  smiles  the  harvest, 
And  stainless  flows  .the  tide. 

"  A  crash,  —  as  when  some  swollen  cloud 

Cracks  o'er  the  tangled  trees  ! 
With  side  to  side,  and  spar  to  spar, 

Whose  smoking  decks  are  these  ? 
I  know  St.  George's  blood-red  cross, 

Thou  Mistress  of  the  Seas,  — 
But  what  is  she,  whose  streaming  bars 

Roll  out  before  the  breeze  ? 

"  Ah,  well  her  iron  ribs  are  knit, 

Whose  thunders  strive  to  quell 
The  bellowing  throats,  the  blazing  lips, 

That  pealed  the  Armada's  knell  ! 
The  mist  was  cleared  —  a  wreath  of  stars 

Rose  o'er  the  crimsoned  swell, 
And,  wavering  from  its  haughty  peak, 

The  cross  of  Enland  fell  ! 


"  O  trembling  Faith  !  though  dark  the  morn, 
A  heavenly  torch  is  thine  ; 


THE  PILGRIM'S   VISION.  65 

While  feebler  races  melt  away, 

And  paler  orbs  decline, 
Shall  still  the  fiery  pillar's  ray 

Along  thy  pathway  shine, 
To  light  the  chosen  tribe  that  sought 

This  Western  Palestine  ! 


"I  see  the  living  tide  roll  on  ; 

It  crowns  with  flaming  towers 
The  icy  cape  of  Labrador, 

The  Spaniard's  '  land  of  flowers ! ' 
It  streams  beyond  the  splintered  ridge 

That  parts  the  northern  shores  ; 
From  eastern  rock  to  sunset  wave 

The  Continent  is  ours  !  " 

He  ceased,  —  the  grim  old  soldier-saint,  - 

Then  softly  bent  to  cheer 
The  pilgrim-child,  whose  wasting  face 

Was  meekly  turned  to  hear ; 
And  drew  his  toil-worn  sleeve  across, 

To  brush  the  manly  tear 
From  cheeks  that  never  changed  in  wo'e, 

And  never  blanched  in  fear. 
5 


66  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

The  weary  pilgrim  slumbers, 

His  resting-place  unknown ; 
His  hands  were  crossed,  his  lids  were  closed, 

The  dust  was  o'er  him  strown  ; 
The  drifting  soil,  the  mouldering  leaf, 

Along  the  sod  were  blown  ; 
His  mound  has  melted  into  earth, 

His  memory  lives  alone. 

So  let  it  live  unfading, 

The  memory  of  the  dead, 
Long  as  the  pale  anemone 

Springs  where  their  tears  were  shed, 
Or,  raining  in  the  summer's  wind 

In  flakes  of  burning  red, 
The  wild  rose  sprinkles  with  its  leaves 

The  turf  where  once  they  bled ! 

Yea,  when  the  frowning  bulwarks 

That  guard  this  holy  strand 
Have  sunk  beneath  the  trampling  surge 

In  beds  of  sparkling  sand, 
While  in  the  waste  of  ocean 

One  hoary  rock  shall  stand, 
Be  this  its  latest  legend,  — 

Here  was  the  Pilgrims'  land! 

0.  W.  HOLMES. 


HYMN. 

SONS  of  the  noble  sires 

Who  braved  proud  ocean's  waves 

For  freedom's  sake ! 
Say  —  will  ye  quench  those  fires 
Their  faith  and  love  inspires  ; 
And,  standing  on  their  graves, 

Their  paths  forsaks  ? 

Shall  freedom  find  a  grave, 
On  this  blood-ransomed  soil  ? 

Must  we  be  slaves  ? 
Our  fleeting  lives  to  save, 
Must  we  no  mercy  crave, 
But  with  the  bondman  toil, 

Branded  as  knaves  ? 

Shall  despots  here  bear  sway,  — 
The  iron  sceptre  here  display, 

Our  lips  to  close  ? 
Sons  of  the  Pilgrims  !  say  — 
Will  ye  these  lords  obey, 


68  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

And  ask  them  when  you  may 
The  truth  disclose  ? 


No  —  no!     We  answer,  no ! 
The  truth  we  '11  fearless  show 

While  breath  remains ; 
Did  not  our  Saviour  so  ? 
Would  He  the  truth  forego  ? 
Or  shrink  when  bade  the  foe, 

T'  scape  from  pains  ? 

While  then  a  slave  is  found, 
While  man  by  man  is  bound, 

We  '11  speak  and  pray  ; 
We  '11  wear  the  bondman's  chains, 
We  '11  bear  the  bondman's  pains, 
We  '11  hear  when  he  complains,  — 

We  '11  do  and  say. 

GEORGE  RUSSELL. 


PILGRIM    HALL,    PLYMOUTH. 


THE  LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS 
IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

THE  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 

And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 
Their  giant  branches  tossed ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came  ; 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

Aud  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame  : 

Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear ; 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 


70  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea : 

And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 
To  the  anthem  of  the  free ! 

The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam  : 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared,  — - 

This  was  their  welcome  home ! 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band  ; 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land  ? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth  ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar  ? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine  ? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war  ?  — 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine ! 


THE  LANDING   OF  THE  PILGRIMS.          71 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod  : 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found, — 

Freedom  to  worship  God. 

MRS.  HEMANS. 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

A  VOICE  of  grief  and  anger, 

Of  pity  mixed  with  scorn, 
Moans  o'er  the  waters  of  the  West, 

Through  fire  and  darkness  borne  ; 
And  fiercer  voices  join  it,  — 

A  wild,  triumphant  yell ! 
For  England's  foes,  on  ocean  slain, 

Have  heard  it  where  they  fell. 

What  is  that  voice  which  cometh 

Athwart  the  spectred  sea  ? 
The  voice  of  men  who  left  their  homes 

To  make  their  children  free  ; 
Of  men  whose  hearts  were  torches 

For  Freedom's  quenchless  fire  ; 
Of  men  whose  mothers  brave  brought  forth 

The  sire  of  Franklin's  sire. 

They  speak !  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 
Speak  to  you  from  their  graves ! 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  73 

For  earth  hath  muttered  to  their  bones 

That  we  are  soulless  slaves  ! 
The  Bradfords,  Carvers,  Win  slows, 

Have  heard  the  worm  complain 
That  less  than  men  oppress  the  men 

Whose  sires  were  Pym  and  Vane  ! 

What  saith  the  voice  which  boometh 

Athwart  the  upbraiding  waves  ? 
"  Though  slaves  are  ye.  our  sons  are  free;      * 

Then  why  will  you  be  slaves  ? 
The  children  of  your  fathers 

Were  Hampden,  Pym,  and  Vane  ! " 
Land  of  the  sires  of  Washington, 
Bring  forth  such  men  again  ! 

EBENEZER  ELLIOTT, 
the  "  Corn-Law  Rliymer  "  of  England, 


TWO   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

SUNG  AT  THE  PUBLIC    DINNER  AT  PLYMOUTH,  DECEMBfc. 

22,  1820. 

COME,  listen  to  my  story, 

Though  often  told  before, 
Of  men  who  passed  to  glory, 

Through  toil  and  travail  sore ; 
Of  men  who  did  for  conscience'  sake 

Their  native  land  forego, 
And  sought  a  home  and  freedom  here, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 

Oh,  't  was  no  earth-born  passion 

That  bade  the  adventurers  stray  ; 
The  world  and  all  its  fashion 

With  them  had  passed  away. 
A  voice  from  Heaven  bade  them  look 

Above  the  things  below, 
When  here  they  sought  a  resting-place, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 


TWO  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO.  75 

Oh,  dark  the  scene  and  dreary, 

When  here  they  set  them  down  ; 
Of  storms  and  billows  weary, 

And  chilled  with  winter's  frown. 
Deep  moaned  the  forests  to  the  wind, 

Loud  howled  the  savage  foe, 
While  here  their  evening  prayer  arose, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 

'T  would  drown  the  heart  in  sorrow 

To  tell  of  all  their  woes ; 
No  respite  could  they  borrow, 

But  from  the  grave's  repose. 
Yet  naught  could  daunt  the  Pilgrim  Band, 

Or  sink  their  courage  low, 
Who  came  to  plant  the  Gospel  here, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 

With  humble  prayer  and  fasting, 

In  every  strait  and  grief, 
They  sought  the  Everlasting, 

And  found  a  sure  relief. 
Their  cov'nant  God  o'ershadowed  them, 

Their  shield  from  every  foe, 
And  gave  them  here  a  dwelling-place, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 


76  POEMS   OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Of  fair  New  England's  glory 

They  laid  the  corner-stone  ; 
This  praise  in  deathless  story 

Their  grateful  sons  shall  own. 
Prophetic,  they  foresaw  in  time 

A  mighty  state  should  grow, 
For  them,  a  few  faint  Pilgrims  here, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 

If  greatness  be  in  daring, 

Our  Pilgrim  Sires  were  great, 
Whose  sojourn  here,  unsparing, 

Disease  and  famine  wait ; 
And  oft  their  treacherous  foes  combined 

To  lay  the  strangers  low, 
While  founding  here  their  commonwealth. 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 

Though  seeming  over  zealous 

In  things  by  us  deemed  light, 
They  were  but  duly  jealous 

Of  power  usurping  right. 
They  nobly  chose  to  part  with  all 

Most  dear  to  men  below, 
To  worship  here  their  God  in  peace, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 


TWO  HUNDRED    YEARS  AGO.  77 

From  seeds  they  sowed  with  weeping 

Our  richest  harvests  rise  ; 
We  still  the  fruits  are  reaping 

Of  Pilgrim  enterprise. 
Then,  grateful,  we  to  them  will  pay 

The  debt  of  fame  we  owe, 
Who  planted  here  the  tree  of  life, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 

As  comes  this  period  yearly, 

Around  our  cheerful  fires 
We  '11  think  and  tell  how  dearly 

Our  comforts  cost  our  sires ; 
For  them  will  wake  the  votive  song, 

And  bid  the  canvas  glow, 
Who  fixed  the  home  of  freedom  here, 

Two  hundred  years  ago. 

JAMES  FLINT. 


HYMN. 

SUNG  AT  THE  CELEBRATION  OF  1824. 

HOLY  spot,  where  glowing  choirs 
Oft  have  wakened  grateful  lyres, 
Oft  have  kindled  grateful  fires, 
O'er  the  Pilgrim's  grave ! 

Once  again  we  press  the  shore, 
Where  our  Fathers  sternly  swore 
Ocean  should  forget  to  roar 

Ere  they  would  be  slaves. 

Hail  the  dawn  when  Freedom's  rays 
Hushed  Columbia's  icy  face  ; 
Sweeter  strains  arise  of  praise 

Than  from  Memnon's  harp. 

Hail  the  spot,  our  Sires'  retreat ; 
Hail  the  waves  that  round  them  beat ; 
Hail  the  Rock  that  bore  their  feet, 

When  their  wanderings  ceased  ! 


HYMN.  79 

Fancy  paints  in  yonder  bay 
The  bark  that  broke  the  Pilgrim's  way  ; 
The  Cradle  where  our  nation  lay 
In  her  infant  days. 

See  the  boat  approach  the  land, 
Freighted  with  the  pious  band  ; 
See,  they  kneel  upon  the  strand, 
Warm  with  gratitude. 

Vent  your  fury,  wind  and  flood, 
Freedom's  bark  is  safely  moored  ; 
Freedom's  sons,  with  hearts  assured, 
Now  their  work  begin. 

Gloomy  scenes  await  the  brave, 
Savage  foes  around  them  rave ; 
Carver  fills  an  early  grave, 

Hope  well-nigh  expires. 

But  to  Faith's  reluming  eye 
Visions  bright  in  prospect  lie  ; 
E'en  a  triumph  't  were  to  die, 
If  in  conscience  free. 

Still  above  the  sacred  dead 
Future  crowds  shall  yearly  tread  ; 


80  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Blooming  youth  and  hoary  head, 
Meet  around  their  urns. 


Oft  shall  Genius'  fluent  tongue 
Trace  the  story,  swell  the  song ; 
Oft  amidst  the  listening  throng 
Thrill  the  feeling  soul. 

Ye  who  Ve  sprung  from  noble  blood, 
Men  who  spurned  the  tyrant's  rod, 
Men  who  bowed  to  none  but  God, 
Here  your  vows  repeat : 

"  By  their  pious  shades  we  swear, 
By  their  toils  and  perils  here, 
We  will  guard  with  jealous  care 
Law  and  Liberty." 

WILLIAM  P.  LUNT. 


ODE. 

NOT  all  the  loftiest  memories 

That  rose  on  earlier  days, 
When,  with  the  trump  and  sacrifice, 

And  swelling  pomp  of  praise, 
Men  gathered  to  their  pillared  halls, 

'Mid  garlands,  joy,  and  wine, 
To  gaze  on  heroes  round  the  walls, 

In  marble  made  divine, 

And  pour  the  deep  libation  there 

To  victors  passed  away  ; 
Or  minds  whose  wonders,  rich  and  rare, 

Poured  splendor  on  their  day,  — 
Not  all  in  finer  hearts  can  vie 

With  those  that  summon  here, 
To  lift,  on  Freedom's  clarion  high, 

The  anthem  of  our  cheer ! 

We  sing  a  nobler  race  than  passed 
In  ancient  times  to  glory : 
6 


82  rOEMS   OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

We  sing  of  deeds  that  shall  outlast, 

In  fame,  all  classic  story ; 
Of  men  who  fought  for  God,  and  gave 

Home  for  a  desert  shore,  — 
With  hearts  too  panoplied  and  brave 

To  quail  beneath  its  roar  ! 

Of  Exiles  of  a  deathless  line, 

And  proud,  unshrinking  brow ; 
Lone  Pilgrims  to  a  rocky  shrine, 

Where  a  people  bend  them  now : 
A  rocky  shrine,  unsheltered,  rude, 

Where  the  wild  wolf  from  his  lair 
Shrieked  through  the  pathless  solitude, 

And  broke  the  voice  of  prayer  ! 

We  sing  of  heroes  who  outdid 

The  boast  of  chivalry : 
Whose  valor  braved  the  shock  amid 

A  stormy  sea  and  sky ; 
Whose  deeds  were  deeds  of  mercy,  done 

To  persecuted  man  ; 
Whose  wreaths  were  wreaths  of  triumph,  won 

In  Virtue's  fearless  van  ! 

New  England's  Fathers  !  —  men  who  dared 
The  agony  of  years ; 


ODE. 

Whom  pale  Oppression  never  spared, 
But  could  not  bow  to  tears ; 

Who  'mid  the  howl  of  winter  fled, 
And  your  banner  here  unfurled, 

And  Conscience  in  her  pride  outled 
Unfettered  to  the  world  ! 

Pilgrims  of  glory  !  there  shall  rise 

Fast  praise  from  heart  and  tongue 
Of  all  for  whom  in  sacrifice, 

Like  martyr-saints,  ye  sprung ; 
And  their  children's  children  shall  outpour, 

From  echoing  clime  to  clime, 
New  poeans  for  the  toils  ye  bore 

In  a  nation's  morning-time. 

Two  hundred  years  their  cloudy  wings 

Expand  above  your  graves ; 
And  lo,  what  wide-flashed  glory  flings 

O'er  all  New  England's  waves! 
Fathers  of  Liberty  !  to  ye 

We  lift  the  wine-cup  now ; 
Yours  be  the  hallowed  memory 

That  consecrates  our  vow. 

And  should  the  voice  of  prophecy 
That 's  doomed  us  to  the  dust 


84  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

E'er  chant  the  requiem  of  the  Free, 

By  tyranny  accursed, 
Oh,  be  a  remnant  true  to  her ! 

Sons  whom  New  England  bore, 
Together  seek  one  sepulchre 

On  Plymouth's  sounding  shore  ! 

GKENVILLE  MELLEN. 


NATIONAL    MONUMENT,    PLYMOUTH. 


HYMN. 

WRITTEN  FOR  DECEMBER  22,  1831. 

THE  brittle  bark  is  on  the  gale, 
Heaven  guides  her  course,  and  swells  the  sail ; 
The  Pilgrims  reach  yon  welcome  shore, 
All  vocal  with  the  songs  they  pour. 

Keen  round  them  blows  the  winter's  air ; 
The  weary  wanderers  kneel  for  prayer ; 
From  opening  clouds  a  voice  is  given  : 
Pilgrims,  there  's  "  nothing  true  but  heaven  " ! 

What  though  no  mystic  cloud,  nor  flame, 
Led  on  the  wanderers  as  they  came  ? 
By  faith  they  saw  the  one  true  God 
Was  guardian  of  the  way  they  trod. 

God  of  our  fathers,  hear  our  prayer  ! 
This  church  be  still  and  long  thy  care ; 
And  grateful  at  this  day's  return 
Fresh  incense  at  thy  shrine  shall  burn. 


86  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

How  long  shall  erring  mortals  feel 
The  exclusive,  the  unholy  zeal 
The  golden  gates  of  heaven  to  close 
On  all  they  dare  to  call  thy  foes  ? 

These  doors  we  open  fling,  and  free 
To  all,  great  God,  who  call  on  Thee ; 
If  warm  their  hearts  in  Christian  deeds, 
Who  shall  exclude  them  for  their  creeds  ? 

Here  may  they  drink  from  living  springs 
The  light  and  life  the  gospel  brings ; 
And,  healed  by  Siloa's  waters,  deem 
Thy  power  and  bounty  feed  the  stream. 

Rise,  Bethlehem's  star,  and  spread  thy  blaze 

To  every  land  in  cheering  rays, 

Till  angels,  in  the  glad  employ, 

Cast  down  their  crowns  and  shout  for  joy. 

ANONYMOUS. 


NATIONAL   HYMN. 

GOD  hath  from  age  to  age 
Raised  hero  up,  and  sage, 

For  Liberty  ; 

He  bared  the  Red  Sea's  sand, 
He  led  to  Plymouth's  strand, 
And  planted  in  this  Western  land 

The  Fathers  free. 

Eternal,  low  we  bow ! 

This  land  invokes  Thee  now, 

The  children  hear ! 
May  wrong  and  outrnge  cease, 
Wisdom  and  worth  increase  ; 
Be  justice,  truth,  and  faith,  and  peace 

Than  gold  more  dear. 

Aught  friendly  to  our  race 
Quicken  our  souls  to  embrace 

With  will  right  good. 
May  we,  great  God,  in  Thee, 


88  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

One  common  Father  see  ; 
In  man  one  great  fraternity, 
Made  of  one  blood ! 

Us,  Father,  Thou  hast  given 
The  highest  under  Heaven 

To  rise  or  fall. 
Let  this  Republic  shine 
With  rising  light  benign, 
And  thus  fulfill  the  grand  design, 

The  good  of  all 

DAVID  LEE  CHILD. 


REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

WITH  joy  I  heard  them  say, 
When  roving  far  abroad, 
On  this,  their  landing  day, 

We  '11  praise  the  Pilgrims'  God. 
I  knew  the  cry, 
I  '11  join  the  song ; 
Thy  courts  we  '11  throng, 
O  Thou  Most  High  ! 

This  day  let  all  awake, 

And  sing  the  mighty  dead, 
Who  first,  for  Zion's  sake, 
O'er  raging  oceans  fled. 
Had  not  our  God 
Preserved  that  flock, 
Safe  on  the  rock 
They  ne'er  had  trod. 

At  once  their  temples  rose  ; 

Our  schools  were  founded  then ; 


90  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Nor  could  their  mightier  foes 
Withstand  those  valiant  men. 
But  vain  their  skill, 
And  vain  their  sword, 
Had  not  the  Lord 
Upheld  them  still. 

Peace  to  that  holy  ground, 

That  consecrated  spot, 
Che  first  our  fathers  found 
Where  tyrants  trouble  not ! 
We  '11  sound  abroad, 
Where'er  we  roam, 
The  Pilgrims'  home, 
The  Pilgrims'  God ! 

ANONYMOUS. 


HYMN. 

Lo,  the  rising  star  of  Freedom 

Once  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  blest ; 
By  her  light  ordained  to  lead  them 
To  the  land  of  promised  rest. 
Star  of  heaven ! 
Star  of  heaven ! 
Traveling  toward  the  distant  west. 

While  their  countless  toils  enduring, 
Faith  the  promise  kept  in  sight : 
For  themselves  and  sons  securing 
Home  and  country,  truth  and  light. 
Star  of  heaven  ! 
Star  of  heaven ! 
Pointing  to  Jehovah's  might. 

Now  the  relics  round  us  lying, 

Grateful  children  guard  their  clay ; 

While  their  spirits,  never  dying, 
Hope  has  borne  on  wings  away. 


92  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Star  of  heaven  ! 

Star  of  heaven  ! 

Guiding  to  a  brighter  day. 

Raise  we  honors  to  their  merit, 

Temples  sculptured  with  their  name  ? 
No  !  their  virtues  to  inherit 

Seals  their  bright  and  conscious  fame. 
Star  of  heaven  ! 
Star  of  heaven ! 
High  they  shine  with  ceaseless  flame. 

See  the  lights  around  us  gleaming, 
Still  to  guide  the  Pilgrims'  eyes  : 
See  the  star  of  empire,  beaming, 
Bids  their  children's  glory  rise. 
Star  of  heaven ! 
Star  of  heaven ! 
Glowing  still  in  western  skies. 

S.  DEANE. 


THE   SAINTED   SIRES. 

WHILE  Pilgrims'  sons,  a  festive  throng, 

To  sainted  sires  their  homage  pay, 
Be  this  the  burthen,  the  burthen  of  their  song, 

And  rapture  animate  the  lay : 

CHORUS. 

Hail,  ye  Pilgrims ! 
Ye  sainted  Pilgrims,  hail ! 
Till  hours,  and  years,  and  time  shall  fail. 

By  heroes  led,  by  virtue  warmed, 

Conducted  by  the  Almighty  hand, 
They  braved  the  ocean,  the  ocean  and  the  storm, 

And  freedom  sought  in  unknown  land. 

The  perils  of  the  ocean  past, 

Fresh  dangers  quickly  them  surround ; 

Shrill  screams    the  savage  —  the  savage  o  'er  the 

blast, 
And  rocks  and  hills  repeat  the  sound. 


94  POEMS   OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

The  barbarous  foe  to  battle  fly, 

Intent  on  bloody  deeds  and  spoil ; 
Swift  flies  the  arrow,  the  arrow  through  the  sky, 

But  victory  crowns  the  Pilgrim's  toil. 

Success  attend  the  good  and  brave, 
The  meed  of  praise  to  them  belongs; 

Virtue    shall    triumph  —  shall    triumph    o'er     the 

grave. 
And  angels  join  their  rapturous  songs. 

Hail  ye  Pilgrims ! 
Ye  sainted  Pilgrims,  hail ! 
When  earth,  and  sky,  and  time  shall  fail. 

ANONYMOUS. 


ODE. 

FOR  THE  CELEBRATION  AT   PLYMOUTH,  DECEMBER  22,  1824- 

THE  Pilgrim  Fathers,  —  where  are  they  ? 

The  waves  that  brought  them  o'er 
Still  roll  in  the  bay,  and  throw  their  spray, 

As  they  break  along  the  shore  ; 
Still  roll  in  the  bay,  as  they  rolled  that  day 

When  the  Mayflower  moored  below, 
When  the  sea  around  was  black  with  storms, 

And  white  the  shore  with  snow. 

The  mists  that  wrapped  the  Pilgrim's  sleep 

Still  brood  upon  the  tide ; 
And  his  rocks  yet  keep  their  watch  by  the  deep, 

To  stay  its  waves  of  pride. 
But  the  snow-white  sail  that  he  gave  to  the  gale, 

When  the  heavens  looked  dark,  is  gone ; 
As  an  angel's  wing,  through  an  opening  cloud, 

Is  seen,  and  then  withdrawn. 

The  Pilgrim  exile,  —  sainted  name ! 
The  hill  whose  icy  brow 


96  POEMS  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Rejoiced,  when  he  came,  in  the  morning's  flame, 

In  the  morning's  flame  burns  now ; 
And  the  moon's  cold  light,  as  it  lay  that  night 

On  the  hill-side  and  the  sea, 
Still  lies  where  he  laid  his  houseless  head ; 

But  the  Pilgrim,  —  where  is  he  ? 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers  are  at  rest; 

When  summer's  throned  on  high, 
And  the  world's  warm  breast  is  in  verdure  dressed. 

Go,  stand  on  the  hill  where  they  lie. 
The  earliest  ray  of  the  golden  day 

On  that  hallowed  spot  is  cast ; 
And  the  evening  sun,  as  he  leaves  the  world, 

Looks  kindly  on  that  spot  last. 

'The  Pilgrim  spirit  has  not  fled  : 

It  walks  in  noon's  broad  light; 
And  it  watches  the  bed  of  the  glorious  dead, 

With  the  holy  stars,  by  night. 
It  watches  the  bed  of  the  brave  who  have  bled, 

And  shall  guard  this  ice-bound  shore 
Till  the  waves  of  the  bay,  where  the  Mayflower 
lay, 

Shall  foam  and  freeze  no  more. 

JOHN  PIERPOXT. 


HYMN  FOR  DECEMBER  22,  1870. 

GREAT  God  of  all,  in  humble,  grateful  prayer, 
We  come  before  Thee  now  on  bended  knee, 

To  thank  Thee  that  Thou  didst  our  fathers  spare 
From  the  wild  dangers  of  a  wintry  sea. 

We  thank  Thee  that  when  dangers  greater  far 
Encompassed  them,  that  brave  hearts  might  ap- 
pall, 

Thou  didst  support  them,  and  didst  let  the  Star 
Of  Hope  shine  on  their  hearts,  and  strengthen  all. 

And  we  their  children,  on  this  joyous  day, 
TsTo  longer  peril-driven  or  tempest-tossed, 

Approach  thy  throne  in  thankfulness,  and  pray 
Our  fathers'  bright  example  be  not  lost. 

May  we  like  them  have  strength  and  courage  given, 

Bear  bravely  up,  e'en  tho'  we  feel  the  rod ; 

Know  that  a  life  well  spent  leads  on  to  Heaven, 

And  duty's  paths  are  but  the  paths  to  God. 

NATHANIEL  SPOONER. 
7 


STANZAS  FROM  "THE  PRESENT  CRISIS." 

'T  is  as  easy  to  be  heroes  as  to  sit  the  idle  slaves 
Of  a  legendary  virtue  carved  upon  our  fathers' 

graves ; 
Worshipers   of  light   ancestral   make   the  present 

light  a  crime ; 
Was  the  Mayflower  launched  by  cowards,  steered 

by  men  behind  their  time  ? 
Turn  those   tracks  toward    Past   or   Future   that 

make  Plymouth  Rock  sublime  ? 

They  were  men  of  present  valor,  stalwart  old  icono- 
clasts, 

Unconvinced  by  axe  or  gibbet  that  all  virtue  was 
the  Past's  ; 

But  we  make  their  truth  our  falsehood,  thinking 
that  hath  made  us  free, 

Hoarding  it  in  mouldy  parchments,  while  our  ten- 
der spirits  flee 

The  rude  grasp  of  that  great  Impulse  which  drove 
them  across  the  sea. 


STANZAS  FROM  "  THE  PRESENT  CRISIS."      99 

They    have  rights  who  dare    maintain  them ;   we 

are  traitors  to  our  sires, 
Smothering  in  their  holy  ashes  Freedom's  new-lit 

altar  fires. 
Shall  we  make  their  creed  our  jailer?  Shall  we,  in 

our  haste  to  slay, 
From    the   tombs   of   the   old   prophets  steal    the 

funeral  lamps  away, 
To  light  up  the  martyr-fagots  round  the  prophets 

of  to-day  ? 

New  occasions  teach  new  duties ;  time  makes  an- 
cient good  uncouth  ; 

They  must  upward  still,  and  onward,  who  would 
keep  abreast  of  truth. 

Lo,  before  us  gleam  her  camp-fires !  We  ourselves 
must  Pilgrims  be  ; 

Launch  our  Mayflower,  and  steer  boldly  through 
the  desperate  winter  sea, 

Nor  attempt  the  Future's  portal  with  the  Past's 
blood-rusted  key. 

J.  R.  LOWELL. 
December,  1845. 


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